


I'm On The Outside, I'm Looking In

by ashtraythief



Series: Underneath 'verse [33]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Crimes & Criminals, Homophobic Language, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, POV Outsider, Pining, Unrequited, Violence, brief mention of Jared/OMC pre Jared/Jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 18:42:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21378763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashtraythief/pseuds/ashtraythief
Summary: It's not easy being gay in the Irish mob. It's even harder when you're crushing on a guy you can't have. Adam Fergus knows, because he's been in love with Jared Padalecki since high school.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Series: Underneath 'verse [33]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/161699
Comments: 72
Kudos: 330





	I'm On The Outside, I'm Looking In

**Author's Note:**

> For the underneath prompt meme. For notlongnow on twitter and some1iusedtoknow on tumblr who both wanted outsider POV from the mob.  
And yes, I am absolutely indulging into how pretty I think these two guys are. Shallow is my middle name.
> 
> Title borrowed from Staind's Outside.
> 
> Many many thanks to keep_waking_up and iwinsoiwin for input and handholding and to ilikaicalie and masja_17 for wonderful and patient beta work! I couldn’t do this without you guys!

When Adam Fergus brokered his first solo deal with a new supplier, the guys took him to the Nine to celebrate. It was one of the city’s oldest mob hangouts, and there were rumors that Murray had recently become a silent partner.

Padalecki and his crew certainly frequented the club regularly and, well, Adam wasn’t one to say no to the eye candy. It probably said something about him that he was attracted to the most dangerous man in the city, but there was nothing he could do about it.

He’d fallen hard, back when Padalecki was still Jared, the too tall, too serious kid who ran a low-level drug and protection ring in high school. Adam was one of the few who’d ever dealt with him in person. One time he’d gotten to see that bright, full-dimpled smile, right before Jared broke a guy’s nose, which confirmed that Adam’s ‘gay thing’ was most definitely not the phase his father so desperately wanted it to be.

Jared had left town and gone to college, the rumors went, and Adam had slowly, covertly started to explore his sexuality. The Irish mob was both a conservative and a Catholic bunch, but the feud with the Italians was brewing and people had bigger things to worry about than Adam frequenting gay clubs on his nights off.

He’d tried to do the whole relationship thing once, but that was apparently too much. His older brother had pulled him aside and told him that people were willing to overlook his ‘gay thing,’ but they couldn’t do that when he shoved it right in their faces. His boyfriend at the time wasn’t willing to date a guy basically in the closet, so Adam went back to late-night hookups. It was time he focused on his career anyway. Or so he told himself.

When Jared came back from California four years later, he wasn’t Jared anymore. He was Padalecki. Even taller, chest broader and shoulders filled out. His hair was still long, but it looked less like a cute bowl cut and more like roguishly windswept strands now.

There was no way for Adam to look at anyone else with Padalecki right in front of his nose.

Adam saw him at the clubs and bars, occasionally. And he heard all about him, of course. How he’d brought a couple of crazy friends with him, how he was brokering deals and how he was growing his family’s business—but Adam didn’t think that was what he was doing, not at all. Padalecki had always done his own thing, hadn’t even used his brother’s protection when he was still in high school. Hadn’t needed it.

After a while, the rest of Chicago caught on and realized that Padalecki wasn’t growing a business; he was building an empire. He had his own crew, new in town and loyal to the bone, each member more dangerous than the other. And they all loved Padalecki with a burning passion. Adam understood; he was kind of an expert in that.

He wondered if one of them shared Padalecki’s bed, too, because ever since he’d returned from California, Padalecki hadn’t hidden for a moment that he fucked guys. Adam’s late-night fantasies took on a whole new level of realism. Padalecki was actually, absolutely gay, and he didn’t care what anyone thought.

But the only one of Padalecki’s crew pretty enough was Murray, with his blond tousled hair and his bright California surfer-boy smile, and he was the biggest skirt-chaser in town. Nevertheless, Padalecki’s bed was never really empty. Even though he was a one-and-done kind of guy who rarely did a repeat performance, there was never a shortage of volunteers. Padalecki had one hell of a reputation and it seemed like every guy who loved taking dick wanted to get on that._ Best fuck of my life_ was a phrase Adam heard frequently. _Nine inches, and boy does he know how to use them too. _Adam could imagine. Which he did quite frequently, in the shower and in the darkness of his bedroom.

The mob talked about it too, behind Padalecki’s back. But their comments were derisive, disgusted. Like it made him weak.

Until Padalecki personally, publically, beat up an enforcer the Hell’s Angels sent to deal with him. Adam wasn’t there to see it, but he had a buddy who was at the restaurant when it went down.

The enforcer was called Bruiser, was six-foot-five, about two-hundred and eighty pounds, and had a reputation of crushing his victims’ bones with his bare hands. Instead of jumping in, Padalecki’s crew had stood back. Given him room to work. Murray, apparently, didn’t even try to hide his smile. Padalecki hadn’t broken a sweat destroying the guy’s face with his fist. Then he’d thrown him into a table, broken a leg off a chair, and proceeded to beat Bruiser to a pulp. Methodically, almost scientifically, Adam’s buddy said with a kind of scared admiration.

When Padalecki was done, he walked over to the table of the bikers who’d sent the guy. Padalecki had taken the leader’s napkin, wiped the blood off his hands, and thrown the bloody napkin on the leader’s plate. Then he asked if they had any other questions, whether they wanted to cling to some outdated notions of bigotry or whether they wanted to make some money. The bikers had chosen the money.

The enforcer went to the hospital with sixty-nine broken bones. Adam thought that was probably an exaggeration, especially because some people who told the story delighted in throwing in a _wink-wink-get-it?_ at the number. How that was supposed to be specifically gay, Adam had no idea, but after that, people didn’t talk anymore, at least not where anyone could hear. Padalecki clawed out his place in a city filled with people warring for the top spots and he earned their respect and fear while he did it.

For such a young guy, the old bosses said, he was pretty smart.

Adam thought they were all underestimating him. His brother told him he shouldn’t think with his dick.

Adam asked him why not. Clearly, for Padalecki, it didn’t seem to be an issue anymore.

His brother snorted and told him to watch Padalecki when he went to a club and compare it with what everyone else did. Then they’d talk again.

Adam didn’t know what his brother meant—not until he and his friends went out a couple of weeks later and Padalecki and his crew were there too.

Padalecki, Murray, Rosenbaum, and Collins. Collins was a weirdo who quietly watched what everybody else did, but Murray and Rosenbaum were both flirting with women, buying drinks, pulling them into their laps, and watching them dance. And Padalecki… he was sitting in the middle, smiling like he owned the world, one guy sitting on either side admiring him, his shoulders, and his expensive watch.

Padalecki bought them drinks, leaned in close to talk to them, had his hands all over them. He dragged one of them to the backroom only to emerge a half hour later, hair a little sweatier, but alone. Murray returned from his own adventure, and they bumped fists and poured from a new bottle of whiskey. When another group of women danced into their booth, angling for free drinks and maybe some presents, there was a blond guy among them with a tight T-shirt and Padalecki leaned back and shot him an inviting smile.

It hit Adam then that Padalecki was playing every rich and powerful man’s game. And because he was playing it perfectly, no one cared anymore that he was playing it with guys. Nothing about him was gay. Nothing but the guys he dragged off to the bathroom to fuck. And apparently, for the Chicago mob, that was good enough.

Still, Adam couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like if one day Padalecki decided he wanted something more permanent.

His brother told him he was too good to be a bed bunny when he caught Adam looking. And he was right. Yeah, Adam wanted Padalecki to drag him off to a bathroom with a burning passion, could fantasize about nothing else, but he had a career. He wasn’t going to be anyone’s cockwarmer. And Padalecki would never have more than that. Even if he could have a relationship without backlash, Adam didn’t think Padalecki was interested in that.

And he kept thinking that, for years.

Especially when Padalecki finally showed his true colors, playing the old families like fiddles and, with a cunning ruthlessness the city hadn’t seen in decades, wiped out any possible opposition. Padalecki and his crew killed anyone who opposed their takeover, but there were a bunch of people ready to swear their allegiance. They said he’d be fairer, share more of the profits. Provide better protection from the cops cracking down on them. The mob needed to get with the times, adapt to the twenty-first century, and Padalecki was the guy to lead them there. Certainly not like the last O’Leary, who fled town with his tail between his legs.

Adam’s brother was at the table when Padalecki gave the rest of the Irish his sales pitch. And the Irish took it. The war with the Italians had drained resources, and they’d been losing ground to the gangs. Padalecki’s plan was good, Adam’s brother said. There was admiration in his voice and Adam couldn’t fault his brother—or anyone else for that matter. Padalecki could be very persuasive.

Padalecki cleaned up and restructured. Milo Ventimiglia, the Italian consigliere’s nephew, joined his crew. Adam had a feeling he’d been promised a place with Padalecki’s people long before anything went down. It gave Adam a kind of dark satisfaction to know that Padalecki was that good, but he couldn’t help being jealous either. Padalecki could have come to the Irish too. As it was, Adam could only continue to watch Padalecki from afar.

Not much changed. Padalecki had a little more security, a bigger car, and a larger selection of more and more expensive watches he wore on his nights out. He still partied; good food and good booze, cigars and poker. He held court with his crew in the Nine and he fucked a new pretty thing every night. Even though his position in the city was secure—they called him the boy king in hushed whispers behind his back—he wasn’t interested in any kind of long-term relationship. Not at all.

Until Jensen Campbell came to town.

Adam saw him for the first time with Padalecki at the Nine. When his friends pointed out the thief which Padalecki had picked up as his newest bed bunny, Adam almost choked on his whiskey.

Campbell was probably the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. He could have been a model or a fucking movie star. Big eyes, clear-cut features, a delicate nose with a strong jawline, and a mouth that was made for sucking cock. And he did not look like the kind of guy who’d be happy with just being a bed warmer. Not at all.

But there was no way Padalecki would give him more. He was just enjoying what had to be the best lay of his life if the way he was making eyes at Campbell was any indication. Seriously, Padalecki wasn’t even looking at anyone else anymore.

After a couple of weeks, Campbell finally left town. Rumor went he couldn’t handle Padalecki’s turf war with a rival. Padalecki’s mood soured—he beat up one of the bikers real good—but then Campbell actually came back and became a steady fixture at Padalecki’s side. They weren’t subtle about it. And people, well, there were a few who started to talk again.

Adam didn’t think that was why he was losing respect—his brother disagreed—but the Californian gangs moving in certainly didn’t help. Was Padalecki losing his touch? Was he too busy chasing his art thief to pay attention to the city? Was it getting too much for him to handle?

Sure, he managed a truce with the gangs, managed to evade and humiliate the FBI, and the rumors quieted down, but Adam couldn’t help waiting for the day it all went to shit. And there was a dark, twisted part deep inside him that wanted it to. A part that wanted to yell at Padalecki that he couldn’t just have a boyfriend and rub it in everybody’s face, not when he still wanted to be successful. Not when that guy wasn’t Adam.

To add insult to injury, Padalecki was fucking a _thief_. He’d had to save Campbell from an old crew runner because this delicate little fashion model couldn’t take care of himself.

“See,” his brother said after the story of Padalecki feeding a con to the fish made the rounds. “Dating, that’s a liability, especially when you’re a fag.”

Adam hit his brother upside the head and told him not to use that word. His brother rolled his eyes but bought him a drink when they went out that night. In their house, that counted as an apology.

They still went to the Nine, occasionally. Adam knew it wasn’t good for him, but he could never stay away for too long. Padalecki was like a drug and Adam needed his fix. Sometimes, Padalecki came without Campbell. Those were Adam’s favorite nights. Padalecki didn’t flirt with random guys anymore, just drank and smoked cigars and talked to his friends. Adam could watch him. Drink in the shoulders and the casual sprawl of his strong arms, how the shirt stretched across his chest, how his hair looked so fucking soft in the club’s light. He could imagine what it would be like to run into him, Padalecki recognizing him, inviting him for drinks to catch up. Realizing how much more suitable Adam would be as a partner.

The nights Campbell was there too, far more frequent, were both better and worse. Better because Adam got to see Padalecki’s desire. Got to see him flirt and laugh, dote and charm. He got to see him with a predatory glint in his eyes, the flash of his dimples, and sometimes even a soft smile on his lips.

But he also saw him put his hands all over Campbell, saw him kiss him, drag him off to the bathroom and come back, hair even sweatier, hand tightly wrapped around Campbell’s, who was always wearing the Cheshire smile of a man well fucked.

Adam waited for Padalecki to dump Campbell like he’d dumped every other guy, but deep down, Adam knew this was different. He’d never seen Padalecki look at anyone like this, with so much hunger and possessiveness, softened by a sort of incredulous adoration, like Padalecki himself still couldn’t believe that Campbell was real.

Adam tried to let it go, not to obsess, but it was hard. Adam’s family was doing okay. Padalecki was doing okay. Business was going well. There was nothing to take Adam’s mind off Padalecki, and how he wished Padalecki would recognize that Campbell was a liability, not a suitable partner for Chicago’s boy king. Adam couldn’t stop fantasizing about the what-if, even if he knew it would never happen.

Then, on Adam’s celebratory night, he ran into Padalecki. Actually physically, collided-with-his-chest ran into Padalecki.

What the fuck.

Padalecki seemed even taller up close, broader. One of his huge hands pressed against Adam’s shoulder and pushed him back. “Watch it.”

“Sorry.” The apology was pure reflex. “Sorry, didn’t see you there.”

Adam was still stunned from the contact, from Padalecki’s iron grip on his shoulder to Padalecki’s scent, which he could smell for the first time. A hint of dark aftershave, sweat, alcohol, and smoke. It smelled familiar, like home, with that hint of danger and sex that Adam always associated with Padalecki.

Padalecki narrowed his eyes. “Do I know you?”

Adam swallowed, couldn’t talk under Padalecki's inquisitive stare, but somehow he managed to press out words. “Yeah. I mean, yes. I used to deal around Lawrence High, way back when, and I supplied a few of your guys.”

Padalecki’s eyes widened. “Right. Of course. You’re the Irish guy.”

Adam’s heart almost beat out of his chest. “Yeah. Adam Fergus.”

And Padalecki smiled, full-dimpled. “Yeah, I remember you. It’s been a while. You’re in business with your brother now, right?”

“Yeah.” Adam tried not to smile like an idiot, but it had been years since he’d been close enough to see the full force of Padalecki’s smile and he’d forgotten the absolutely blinding effect.

“Hey, you know what, you should join us for a drink. Catch up, talk some shop.”

For a moment, Adam felt like he was back in high school: the cool kid inviting him to their lunch table. But this was even better. This was the real world. Adam followed Padalecki to his table in a haze. He couldn’t believe this was happening, answering on autopilot while Padalecki introduced him and poured him a drink.

Adam shook hands with Murray and Rosenbaum and nodded at Collins. He was at the table with the most powerful family in Chicago, and all he could think about was how well Padalecki filled out his dark suit, _everywhere_, and how Campbell wasn’t here tonight.

When Padalecki put the glass down in front of him with a friendly smile, no hint of flirting anywhere, reality crashed back in.

The loud voices of the club, the strobe lights, the smell of booze and sweat, and Adam realized this was an opportunity. Professionally probably more than personally, but how the hell was he supposed to ignore a crush he’d nursed for ten years now?

“So, Adam, how’s business?”

His family was paying Padalecki protection, and in exchange Padalecki kept law enforcement at bay and made sure borders were respected and turf wars avoided. Adam’s family had a pretty good hold on their neighborhood and he couldn’t help but brag a little.

“Really good actually. Everything was quiet last year, so we could really focus on expanding our services, you know.”

Padalecki nodded. “Your brother mentioned something about moving into the financial sector.”

Their cousin Doyle had turned into a resourceful loan shark, Adam occasionally helped out with collections.

“Yeah, it’s going really well,” Adam said. “Doyle, my cousin, he’s, you know, really good with people. And we decided not to squeeze too much. Our vig is very competitive and there’s actually good word on the street. Most of the time people can pay us back.”

Padalecki nodded. “Yeah, there’s no point in charging a twenty percent vig if only half the people can pay it back and you get a bad reputation.”

“Exactly. That’s why we charge only ten percent.”

“Flat?” Padalecki asked, brow furrowing. “You should consider doing some research beforehand, charge a more client-tailored vig.”

Adam nodded; he’d thought about this before too. “You need someone really good with computers if you want to know people’s real financial assets, though.”

Padalecki considered for a moment, then turned to Murray. “Hey, Chad.”

Murray was talking to a pretty brunette, but he immediately excused himself. “Yeah?”

“Adam’s family could use someone good with computers to do some research occasionally.”

Murray scrunched up his brows. “Stern would be good, or maybe Qualls.”

“Great. Put them in touch with Adam.”

“Will do. Anything else?”

Padalecki rolled his eyes. “No.”

Murray grinned. “Awesome.” He turned back to the woman next to him with a bright smile.

Adam cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Padalecki leaned back, stretching an arm across the back of the couch, silver Rolex glinting in the strobe lights. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Adam tried not to stare at the hollow of his throat shining with sweat. He lowered his eyes, but that wasn’t better. Padalecki was wearing soft, dark slacks and if Adam hadn’t heard the rumors he’d think he’d stuffed a sock in his underwear. As it was, Adam was pretty sure that right there was all real and he quickly drained his whiskey so his mouth wouldn’t water.

When he looked up Padalecki was scrutinizing him. For a moment, Adam considered saying something—not flirting, directly, he didn’t want to embarrass himself—but just... something.

“Still,” Adam said. “You’re very hands-on, and I appreciate it.” He looked up at Padalecki, into his multicolored eyes, hypnotic in the dark light of the club. He didn’t really know where to go from here, but he couldn’t miss this opportunity. “Actually, if you wanted to come downtown sometime, I could show you—”

In the middle of his sentence, a hand landed on Padalecki’s shoulder. There, behind him, was Jensen Campbell. Padalecki didn’t even flinch, the corners of his mouth instead pulling up into a smile before he’d even turned around. Like he was able to identify Campbell just by the touch of his hand.

“Hey, sweetheart. This is a nice surprise.”

Campbell smiled, white-toothed and perfect. “Finished prep early. Thought I’d come out for a drink before I fly out tomorrow.”

“Well, you know I never say no to your company.”

Campbell’s eyes went a little soft before he gracefully climbed over the back of the couch, light, washed-out denim stretching over strong thighs and the muscles of his bare forearms flexing under the rolled-up sleeves of his dark henley. He squeezed in next to Padalecki and his eyes turned to Adam, not bothering to hide his curiosity. “Who’s your friend?”

There was something sharp lurking in his gaze, and for a belly-dropping moment, Adam thought Campbell had seen what Padalecki clearly, thankfully hadn’t.

Padalecki laughed, almost sheepishly. “That’s Adam Fergus. I know him from way back.”

Campbell’s perfectly arched eyebrows shot up. “How way back?”

Padalecki grinned, popping both dimples and making him look years younger. “High school.”

With a devious gleam in his eyes, Campbell turned to Adam and unleashed the full force of his smile on him, eyes glinting fairy-green and crinkling at the corners. “Adam, you are my new best friend. How about I buy you a drink and you tell me all about Jared’s high school adventures?”

Padalecki just rolled his eyes, fond and unworried.

Adam balled his hand into a fist under the table and put on a smile.

Campbell was sharp and had a dry wit, and he was actually interested in what Adam had to say. Padalecki never left Campbell’s side, had a hand on him at all times, even when he turned away to talk to Murray or Rosenbaum. Later, Cortese showed up, bought a new bottle of whiskey and started drinking with Padalecki like she wasn’t a hundred pounds sopping wet, but then, Genevieve Cortese was made of steel and heels. Or so they said.

Campbell never stopped talking to Adam. And he was a good listener. Clearly, Adam’s worries about Campbell suspecting him of hitting on Padalecki were unfounded. Instead, Adam found himself talking about his own time in high school when he couldn’t think of a single thing to say about Padalecki anymore. Campbell entertained him with college stories. Adam had never gone to college, but he had enough funny stories from his job. Campbell laughed, asked for more, and Adam found himself relaxing, found himself falling into his company. And yeah, he could see why Padalecki was so enamored with him that he would ignore everything that came along with actually dating an art thief, from the nasty talk behind his back to the risk of protecting him.

And Campbell was fucking beautiful. He didn’t have Padalecki’s hair, or his shoulders, didn’t exude the raw physicality and power that made Adam fantasize about getting slammed into a wall, but Campbell was still fucking beautiful. Even in the dim light of the club, Adam had no problem seeing the dark eyelashes framing his big eyes and Adam had to adjust himself after Campbell took a sip from his champagne and the liquid clung to his lips, making them so shiny and red, it was obscene. Campbell also had a way of talking, his voice deep and whiskey smooth, that would probably make the contents of a phone book sound sexy.

And so when Campbell asked, Adam couldn’t help but answer. In the end, he even told Campbell about his family charging a more competitive and customer friendly vig. “And we can individualize it even, as Mr. Padalecki suggested.”

Campbell tilted his head. “Yeah, you’re really grateful that he’s so _hands-on_, aren’t you?”

Adam’s stomach dropped. “I mean, yeah, he’s a great boss.” He tried to surreptitiously wipe his sweaty palms on his jeans, but Campbell caught it.

His eyes flashed to the side. Padalecki was still drinking with Cortese, but he was just about to empty his glass. Campbell leaned forward and Adam’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t know if Campbell would threaten him or murder him right here.

“Look, I can’t blame you.” Campbell’s full lips quirked up in a smile. “Would be pretty hypocritical of me. And I’m not going to embarrass you either.”

Adam drew in a sharp breath.

“But,” Campbell said, voice dark and eyes hard, “I’m not going to tolerate any kind of disrespectful behavior. Jared is mine.”

“Absolutely,” Adam rushed out. “I would never.”

And just like that Campbell smiled again. But Padalecki was also turning back to them, and Adam focused on relaxing his features.

Padalecki leaned in, pressed a kiss behind Campbell’s ear, and Adam was so close he could see a hint of Padalecki’s teeth, which sent a hot flash of arousal through his body, still thrumming with adrenaline from the conversation with Campbell.

“Having fun?” he asked, almost too low for Adam to hear.

“Yeah,” Campbell said, not trying to keep his voice down. “But I could be having more fun.” His hand moved up Padalecki’s thigh and he bit his lower lip, slowly let it slide out from under his teeth, plumped and reddened. There was absolutely no doubt what he meant.

It had the desired effect on Padalecki. His eyes darkened and the hand he’d had around Campbell’s shoulder wrapped around his neck, fingers digging possessively into the soft skin of his throat.

“Adam,” Padalecki said, without ever taking his eyes off Campbell. “It was great to see you again. If you’ll excuse us.”

They stood, and Padalecki didn’t spare Adam another glance. Campbell shot Adam a look, not unfriendly, but definitely smug. And Adam couldn’t blame him. Neither of them. Padalecki’s hand was on Campbell’s ass while they walked towards the back door, and Adam watched them leave. Padalecki’s broad shoulders under his light shirt, clinging to his back, and Campbell’s bowlegs and tight little ass, covered by Padalecki’s big hand and broad wrist. He wondered how that would look without the clothes.

Well fuck. Adam drained his whiskey.

“Sorry, dude.” Murray was giving him an apologetic look. “But stay. Drink. And give me your card, so I can give you the contact info, yeah?”

Adam nodded, reached for a napkin and scribbled down his number. Then he stood and said his goodbyes. Murray and Rosenbaum were perfectly nice, but Cortese was eyeing him too curiously for Adam’s liking. Fuck.

Adam went straight home, the night looping on rewind in his mind.

Jensen Campbell was a force of nature and tonight, for the first time, when Adam jerked himself off, he imagined Padalecki pounding Campbell from behind while Campbell was sucking Adam’s dick. It was one of the best orgasms he’d ever had.

A month later, Padalecki got shot. For a terrifying four days, the city was in limbo. Adam was in limbo. He blamed the uncertainty, the imminent danger of a war, but for him, it was personal too.

Then the rumors spread. Campbell was making the rounds, coming and going in the middle of the night like the thief he was, threatening gangbangers and drug runners with murder and fury.

Adam’s brother finally told him that O’Leary was back, making his play, and had called on their family for help.

Adam shook his head. Going against Padalecki was suicide.

His brother tried to argue. Padalecki got shot; no one knew if he would survive at all. O’Leary was the horse to bet on.

Adam pulled his gun on his brother. “I’m not letting you kill yourself,” he told him. “He’s gonna come back. And he’s gonna rain death and destruction onto everyone who opposed him.”

His brother acquiesced.

The next day, an explosion shook the city. Adam and his brother drove out to the warehouse, arriving just after the first cop cars. They watched the fire eat up the building, the firemen put it out, and the medical examiner pull up. Watched as the smoke cleared to reveal the writing on the wall.

_LONG LIVE THE KING_

His brother gripped his shoulder. “Thanks, man,” he said.

Adam nodded.

Two weeks later, another story made the rounds. Padalecki was engaged. He and Campbell were tying the knot. And there was no derision in the story. No contempt. No one dared say the f-word anymore.

Because Padalecki was the undisputed king of Chicago. And Campbell, well, no one was exactly sure what Campbell was, but the stories were spreading. The break-ins, the threats. The time he’d broken into the fiftieth floor of a Miami high-rise without a safety rope. The time he’d stolen a diamond necklace with just a bottle of champagne, a bowl of shrimp, and some aluminium foil.

Campbell would be sitting on the throne next to Padalecki and no one dared say a word against it anymore.

Adam got himself a new suit for the wedding and thought that it was time to let go. Maybe he just had to find a nice, dangerous art thief for himself.

**Author's Note:**

> You can come find me on tumblr [here](http://ashtraythief.tumblr.com/) and on twitter [here.](https://twitter.com/ashtraythief) My ask box is always open.


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